Magic Charm's Promised Land
I've further trekked than sunny Spain,
Greece, Oslo, Cairo, Rome,
to the Marquesas, back again,
praised sunsets polychrome.
From Newfoundland to Winnipeg
in Canada ice cold,
Atlanta, Phoenix, Vegas leg
adventured U.S. bold,
yet ne'er before soul sought to gain
new found land underneath starred dome
than when eyes glanced at eyes again
discovering safe home.
On oceans free from tummy pain
I've braved storm winds' flecked foam,
yet never seen such comely reign -
more sweet than honeycomb -
as sapphire [e]Yes which melt will, brain:
the subject of this po'm,
the dream of men since Abel, Cain,
wherever, when, they roam,
Time’s sting retains no mortal pain.
as roads return to Rome,
as serendipity sheds rein
as barricades dissolve,
hope homes to roost free from base bane
as questions answers solve.
Much have I travelled overbold
through rea[l]ms of coloured dreams,
with insight sought what can't with gold
be bought - of light's pure beam
the essence and delight, behold!
In iris fair there gleams
both past and future forward bowled
with incandescent steam,
an energy so long foretold -
hope which to hope did seem
lost, lost until her fire did fold
my heart in fee, I deem.
Here eyes surprise sighs hot and cold,
can Paradise redeem!
For centuries adoring throats
sing praise, seek golden band,
pursue frail grail, or sow wild oats
while countless grains of sand
are ground by time and tide whose boat
so many lives must strand.
Yet one to whom all would devote
existence, faith refanned,
in Nice and Montreal fresh coat
lends - spritely saraband.
Above dark Lethe she shall float
Time’s stings, bark’s rings withstand …
For centuries wise scholars wrote
about some promised land,
they’d often reinvent, misquote
pale rumours secondhand.
For centuries kin[gs] kin[gs] have smote
to win vain beauty's hand,
if these could be reborn their vote
unanimous would stand
for magic charm on whom all dote,
they'd fail to understand
why they beforehand cared a groat
for others with praise bland.
These rhymes remove doubt's overcoat -
spontaneous, unplanned.
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Love's Requiem
Confusion writhes around our hearts impatiently
It drains the faith that lights the dark and sets us free
From the chains of our war and the pain we once called love
The poison of doubt enslaves our minds and we bleed
We abandon the trust that kept us blind and disappear
Under the crimson wings of hate where the lost are safe
Until they love again
The heart of darkness is hope of finding you there
And that hope will be our love's requiem
We pray to the serpent of delight desperately
The questions are answered and we try not to weep
Until we are sure we're suffering for love
In the dungeon of our dreams we're so weak
The promise made to be broken still haunts our sleep
We won't open our eyes afraid we would die for love again
The heart of darkness is hope of finding you there
And that hope will be our love's requiem
The salvation we seek will be waiting us there
In the heart of darkness lonely and scared
With a promise of death for our love
And now that we're free from the chains of our dark love
I'm lost
And now that we're free from the chains of our dark love
I'm lost
The heart of darkness is hope of finding you there
And that hope will be our love's requiem
Take me into your arms and sing me your beautiful song
Hold me until we're one and sing me you're beautiful song
The heart of darkness is hope of finding you there
And that hope will be our love's requiem
Take me into your arms and sing me your beautiful song
Hold me until we're one and sing me you're beautiful song...
song performed by by H.I.M.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Loves Requiem
Confusion writhes around our hearts impatiently
It drains the faith that lights the dark and sets us free
From the chains of our war and the pain we once called love
The poison of doubt enslaves our minds and we bleed
We abandon the trust that kept us blind and disappear
Under the crimson wings of hate where the lost are safe
Until they love again
The heart of darkness is hope of finding you there
And that hope will be our loves requiem
We pray to the serpent of delight desperately
The questions are answered and we try not to weep
Until we are sure were suffering for love
In the dungeon of our dreams were so weak
The promise made to be broken still haunts our sleep
We wont open our eyes afraid we would die for love again
The heart of darkness is hope of finding you there
And that hope will be our loves requiem
The salvation we seek will be waiting us there
In the heart of darkness lonely and scared
With a promise of death for our love
And now that were free from the chains of our dark love
Im lost
And now that were free from the chains of our dark love
Im lost
The heart of darkness is hope of finding you there
And that hope will be our loves requiem
Take me into your arms and sing me your beautiful song
Hold me until were one and sing me youre beautiful song
The heart of darkness is hope of finding you there
And that hope will be our loves requiem
Take me into your arms and sing me your beautiful song
Hold me until were one and sing me youre beautiful song...
song performed by by H.i.m. (his Infernal Majesty)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Cruel Winds of Winter
Got up this morning, no sun in my eyes,
The house is so cold, no warmth to the fire,
My love is gone, he took all my desire,
And cruel winds of winter howled all night.
My love could warm me in the coldest time,
Bring the light of day to the darkest night,
As tears of my sorrow fall from my eyes,
The cruel winds of winter cry in delight.
Pull on my coat, keep the chill from my side,
I walk by the sea, the salt stings my eye,
The caps are all gray, like clouds in the sky,
And with those cruel winds of winter, I cry.
As tears of my sorrow fall to the sand,
My love is not here to warn my cold hand,
He’s gone like the sun from this harsh, gray land,
And only the wind seems to understand.
This endless winter has replaced his light,
My sweet love gone, no warmth in my sight,
I drift lost and lonely, no sleep I find,
Still those winds cry with me deep in the night.
My heart so heavy, life has no delight,
And the cruel winds of winter, torment my night.
poem by Teresa Dearing
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Dream Matcher's Response to Dreamcatcher's Dream Hatcher - 1518 - Current Version
'The stranger by the sandman's side
had moonlight in his hair
His eyes were blue like sapphire stars
His face was wondrous fair' K Smart
There are no dreams that go astray,
there is no duty one must pay,
where spontaneity on call
may conquer limits one and all,
discarding strictures though men say
obey.
Fey angel eyes may mesmerise,
can take fond Cupid by surprise,
attraction's magic magnet makes
light of past downcast, fast mistakes
repairs to pair two hearts' twinned sway
night, day.
One hand may weave a web as fine
as silken spider's, line by line,
two minds net-knit together may
surpass [l]one hand when interplay
is woken by unspoken sign
today.
As Milky Way's spun stars combine
in silver necklace, gems divine,
your words with mine may overlay
poetic inspiration's play
to lay foundations, redesign
the Way.
"Who is this man of mystery"
his future and his history,
can he uncanny, vision clear,
reinvent what, once held dear,
may reappear, with kiss merry
heart sway?
Dream satchel deep his mind supplies,
who stimulation and surprise
awaits when gifts are shared around,
with none held back, none to impound
as ransom, superficial sighs
that weigh.
Where two may roam, there that is home
from land to land, from foam to foam,
from spirits deep unlock the keep,
restraining order, thence to leap
converting into polychrome
joy's day.
Dreams hyphonate what still may come
with what stays still, forever dumb,
retain the reins of destiny
so reign's refrain's sustained, stays free.
There is no hardfast rule of thumb
in play.
Some inspirations answer prayer,
some aspirations bubble air,
most memories dissolve at dawn
though some persist, won't be foresworn.
If 'Anything' is 'Everywhere'
one may
convert the magic phantomime
into enlightenment to climb
towards tomorrow and expect
rewards not sorrow some project
or interject as paradigm
passé.
Pale horse as Pegasus is seen
to set the scene for unforseen
adventures which advance to chance
no sharp indentures, - circumstance
highlights freewill, none pastures green
gainsay.
Thus dreams bring close what far away
appears to others, interplay
between right brain and left may link
cause and effect beyond the brink
of far horizons' sway with fey
display.
(15 Apri 2012)
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Not Think on You...?
Not think on you as Valentine draws near?
Another name my ears could never hear,
nor other eyes surprise heart ever true,
another word between my lips appear.
'The night for music and the day for sleep'
brook no delay, swift, love’s appointment keep.
Tomorrow? Some misfortune may occur,
so laugh tonight – tomorrow, we may weep.
Not think on you? Emotions can’t be banned -
as well the blushing cup might brimming stand
inverted in the air, remaining full,
should ever heart from heart stray, hand from hand.
The patient drops from stalagtite may seep
across the centuries in caverns deep
to form the wonders which surprise and stir, -
would that we had such time before we sleep!
Not think on you? Is passion contraband?
are ardour, fervour, phantom saraband?
The stars will circle round still Earth at rest
before I would renege on golden band.
Meanwhile most trial as stone upon the strand
or even less, a modest grain of sand,
which may however sunlight focus to
a laser beam to shine upon command.
Not think on you? Is gravity reversed?
Is Earth's attraction topsy-turvy cursed?
are pheromones as honeycombs combined
illusion vain or pure refrain rehearsed?
Seek more, and soar, to where the wild winds whirl
around some coral strand, to man and girl
as yet unknown, where two together may
fuse all emotions, naught refuse, flag furl.
Not think on you? Divine the Karma which
together may forever two parts stitch,
as empathy extends the spirits reach
to teach deep understanding, ever rich.
Sweeter by far than nightingale or merle
one voice, soul's karmic echo, can uncurl
to charm the birds from off the very trees –
lion and lamb at peace, serene mid cosmic swirl...
Not think on you?
poem by Jonathan Robin
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The House of Christmas
There fared a mother driven forth
Out of an inn to roam;
In the place where she was homeless
All men are at home.
The crazy stable close at hand,
With shaking timber and shifting sand,
Grew a stronger thing to abide and stand
Than the square stones of Rome.
For men are homesick in their homes,
And strangers under the sun,
And they lay on their heads in a foreign land
Whenever the day is done.
Here we have battle and blazing eyes,
And chance and honour and high surprise,
But our homes are under miraculous skies
Where the yule tale was begun.
A Child in a foul stable,
Where the beasts feed and foam;
Only where He was homeless
Are you and I at home;
We have hands that fashion and heads that know,
But our hearts we lost - how long ago!
In a place no chart nor ship can show
Under the sky's dome.
This world is wild as an old wives' tale,
And strange the plain things are,
The earth is enough and the air is enough
For our wonder and our war;
But our rest is as far as the fire-drake swings
And our peace is put in impossible things
Where clashed and thundered unthinkable wings
Round an incredible star.
To an open house in the evening
Home shall men come,
To an older place than Eden
And a taller town than Rome.
To the end of the way of the wandering star,
To the things that cannot be and that are,
To the place where God was homeless
And all men are at home.
poem by G.K. Chesterton
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The House of Christmas
There fared a mother driven forth
Out of an inn to roam;
In the place where she was homeless
All men are at home.
The crazy stable close at hand,
With shaking timber and shifting sand,
Grew a stronger thing to abide and stand
Than the square stones of Rome.
For men are homesick in their homes,
And strangers under the sun,
And they lay on their heads in a foreign land
Whenever the day is done.
Here we have battle and blazing eyes,
And chance and honour and high surprise,
But our homes are under miraculous skies
Where the yule tale was begun.
A Child in a foul stable,
Where the beasts feed and foam;
Only where He was homeless
Are you and I at home;
We have hands that fashion and heads that know,
But our hearts we lost - how long ago!
In a place no chart nor ship can show
Under the sky's dome.
This world is wild as an old wives' tale,
And strange the plain things are,
The earth is enough and the air is enough
For our wonder and our war;
But our rest is as far as the fire-drake swings
And our peace is put in impossible things
Where clashed and thundered unthinkable wings
Round an incredible star.
To an open house in the evening
Home shall men come,
To an older place than Eden
And a taller town than Rome.
To the end of the way of the wandering star,
To the things that cannot be and that are,
To the place where God was homeless
And all men are at home.
poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
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Time's Shadow
Thy life, O Man, in this brief moment lies:
Time's narrow bridge whereon we darkling stand,
With an infinitude on either hand
Receding luminously from our eyes.
Lo, there thy Past's forsaken Paradise
Subsideth like some visionary strand,
While glimmering faint, the Future's promised land,
Illusive from the abyss, seems fain to rise.
This hour alone Hope's broken pledges mar,
And joy now gleams before, now in our rear,
Like mirage mocking in some waste afar,
Dissolving into air as we draw near.
Beyond our steps the path is sunny-clear,
The shadow lying only where we are.
poem by Mathilde Blind
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The Song Of The Standard
Maiden most beautiful, mother most bountiful, lady of lands,
Queen and republican, crowned of the centuries whose years are thy sands,
See for thy sake what we bring to thee, Italy, here in our hands.
This is the banner thy gonfalon, fair in the front of thy fight,
Red from the hearts that were pierced for thee, white as thy mountains are white,
Green as the spring of thy soul everlasting, whose life-blood is light.
Take to thy bosom thy banner, a fair bird fit for the nest,
Feathered for flight into sunrise or sunset, for eastward or west,
Fledged for the flight everlasting, but held yet warm to thy breast.
Gather it close to thee, song-bird or storm-bearer, eagle or dove,
Lift it to sunward, a beacon beneath to the beacon above,
Green as our hope in it, white as our faith in it, red as our love.
Thunder and splendour of lightning are hid in the folds of it furled;
Who shall unroll it but thou, as thy bolt to be handled and hurled,
Out of whose lips is the honey, whose bosom the milk of the world?
Out of thine hands hast thou fed us with pasture of colour and song;
Glory and beauty by birthright to thee as thy garments belong;
Out of thine hands thou shalt give us as surely deliverance from wrong.
Out of thine eyes thou hast shed on us love as a lamp in our night,
Wisdom a lodestar to ships, and remembrance a flame-coloured light;
Out of thine eyes thou shalt shew us as surely the sun-dawn of right.
Turn to us, speak to us, Italy, mother, but once and a word,
None shall not follow thee, none shall not serve thee, not one that has heard;
Twice hast thou spoken a message, and time is athirst for the third.
Kingdom and empire of peoples thou hadst, and thy lordship made one
North sea and south sea and east men and west men that look on the sun;
Spirit was in thee and counsel, when soul in the nations was none.
Banner and beacon thou wast to the centuries of storm-wind and foam,
Ages that clashed in the dark with each other, and years without home;
Empress and prophetess wast thou, and what wilt thou now be, O Rome?
Ah, by the faith and the hope and the love that have need of thee now,
Shines not thy face with the forethought of freedom, and burns not thy brow?
Who is against her but all men? and who is beside her but thou?
Art thou not better than all men? and where shall she turn but to thee?
Lo, not a breath, not a beam, not a beacon from midland to sea;
Freedom cries out for a sign among nations, and none will be free.
England in doubt of her, France in despair of her, all without heart -
Stand on her side in the vanward of ages, and strike on her part!
Strike but one stroke for the love of her love of thee, sweet that thou art!
Take in thy right hand thy banner, a strong staff fit for thine hand;
Forth at the light of it lifted shall foul things flock from the land;
Faster than stars from the sun shall they fly, being lighter than sand.
Green thing to green in the summer makes answer, and rose-tree to rose;
Lily by lily the year becomes perfect; and none of us knows
What thing is fairest of all things on earth as it brightens and blows.
This thing is fairest in all time of all things, in all time is best -
Freedom, that made thee, our mother, and suckled her sons at thy breast;
Take to thy bosom the nations, and there shall the world come to rest.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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I Remeber
'All my life,
I've been searching,
until that day when,
I met you.'
These words seem foolish,
to me now,
just looking back,
I fell for that? !
What did I know,
nothing I suppose,
for now I see,
you never meant a word.
I hope one day,
I can look back,
and understand why,
you did what you did.
But until then,
I just sit,
in pain and agony,
because of you.
I hope one day,
you'll feel such pain,
then realize how badly,
you hurt me.
I know it's wrong,
to wish pain on another,
but I really want you,
to understand all this.
But that's long in the past,
though days I still dream,
of the times we shared,
and what you meant to me.
We had something special,
but it never lasted long,
but those days leading up to it,
I'll never forget.
The way you let,
your heart do the talking,
the way you just,
were all you could be.
The way our eyes met,
the way our hands touched,
such perfect days,
now just dreams.
I would get lost,
in your eyes,
and keep silent,
as you spoke.
I remember those days,
do you as well,
remember the time,
my heart skipped a beat?
The laughs,
the tears,
the love,
and warmth.
But I guess,
it's all in the past,
there's nothing I can do,
but just let go of you.
poem by Katherine Bryce
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Mystasia
Mystasia, is the land
Mystasia, is the land beyond your dreams
Mystasia, come with me
Mystasia, endless hope, that's what it means
If you believe there's nothing else but a dream you are wrong
Try to look beyond
Here is the world, here is your own galaxy like it seems
The land beyond your dreams
Now take the chance to let you're feelings be free, and you'll see
You can live your fantasy
Mystasia is the place, is more than you guess, like a sign
The sun will always shine
You feel like flying in a coloured sky
You are weightless like a butterfly
What's on your mind becomes reality
A piece of heaven will set you free
If you open your eyes you can see a land
Where illusions are more than a friend
Where the rainbow appears, all the people smile
And you can escape for a while
I'm talking about a land that you don't know
You know, like a secret - or a rainbow
Where life could be paradise, sun is shinin' all the time
All around a magic place, 99 here's the sign
Fine - this will be yours and mine
We call it land of the sun with the golden shine
Free your mind - don't care about what people say
Today is the day, you better come this way
song performed by by DJ Bobo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Quieta Ne Movete II
IF one should wake one's frozen faith
In sunlight of her radiant eyes,
Bid it forget its dream of death,
In this new dream of Paradise,
Bid it forget the long, slow pain,
The agony when, all in vain,
It fought for life, and how one swore,
Once cold, it should not waken more;
If hope one buried long ago
Should thrill beneath those smiles of hers,
Should in one's sere life stir and grow,
As in brown woods the young spring stirs;
If, breaking icy bonds of grief,
One's soul should start to bud and leaf,
It might forget in that springtide
How last year's leaves fell off and died.
If from warm faith and hope set high
A lovely living child was born,
With lips more pure than starlit sky,
And eyes as clear as summer morn,
Child-love might grow till one forgot
Old love, that was and now is not--
Forgot that far-off time of tears,
And all these desolated years.
And yet of faith, hope, love, one knows
So well what end the years will make,
If one should dig beneath Time's snows
And wake them now for her sweet sake.
New life may mean new joy; but then,
What lives again may die again,
And to that second death there may
Be no new resurrection-day.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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We’ve Faith To Hope
When peace on earth has blessed our ground
When innocent of sin
Then Christ God’s Lamb we’ve truly found
And Fire burns deep within
With peace God brings His love inside
Brings faith The Truth to learn
Brings hope to be the faithful bride
Of Christ who’ll soon return
Faith is the hope of that unseen
Of promises divine
That we one day as Heaven’s queen
May drink eternal wine
What hope has faith that’s placed in man?
What hope can such faith bring?
Is this not part of Satan’s plan?
To grieve our Lord and King
The word of God is all too plain
The past has shown quite clear
There’s nought to learn, there’s nought to gain
From man who’s wisdom’s here
We need to seek for higher things
We need to seek The Light
We need to seek the truth Christ sings
On pages black on white
Knowledge will come with wisdom’s dawn
Waiting at Jesus feet
We’ll drink His blood and be reborn
Through spiritual food we eat
By faith alone these things are done
Through faith we understand
That through our faith true life is won
Within God’s Promised Land
poem by Michael P. Johnson
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Pain, Hope
Every time I see the light
I'm pushed back by pain
The pain that haunts me
The pain that kills me
The pain I know
Forever a knife in my back
Hope is still in my heart
I charge forward brave
The hope that keeps me
The hope that heals me
The hope I need
Forever clinging to my soul
Lonliness won't lighten up
Forever drifting alone
The pain that numbs me
The pain that fills me
The pain I know
Forever a thorn in my side
Happiness is dampened
Can't ever fade away
The hope that feels me
The hope that fills me
The hope I need
Forever stands at my side
My chest is grieving, shakes unyield
My mind is reeling, clouded and dazed
My soul is choking, echoing within me
My heart is breaking, faintly inside
My eyes are glazing, gaze unfocused
My hands are falling, dead and lifeless
The pain I have
The hope I need
The pain that kills
The hope that heals
The pain I feel
The hope I want
The pain
The hope
poem by Jordan Usselman
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The Journey
Violent dreams in the tempest gate
Two visions meet like a hurricane
Cain and Abel, paradise lost
A double-minded man tossed
Lust is a bloody sword unsheathed
Divided nature hidden beneath
Defiled with pride, wrapped in chains
The battle rages on every page
Pompous temples sold for gold
The wilderness is lonely and cold
Dressed in poise shallow and hollow
Conscience is a compass we follow
Meaning shines like a newborn friend
Death appears in dark lament
Funerals and tears shatter illusions
Pain wakes our sleeping delusions
Time will never stop its marching hand
Hope cannot survive on surface sand
No roots grow in the glitter and gold
Beauty fades and everything exposed
No where to run nothing too lose
The soul is truly a place of refuge
Oblivion cannot stop the lion of light
I stare at the wondrous stars tonight
Caravans of searchers seeking too trust
All that I am returns back to the dust
Into the desert where sinners must go
There in the wise stars I see my soul
The journey home is truly within
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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Dream's Houri Land Seems Hour Island
Goals, when perspective's sought by souls, then scanned,
drum rolls show dumb roles, no red carpet rolled.
Story - youth to hoary - soon is told,
breath bold, brash, old, rash, Death strikes out of hand,
just blows away. Just blow falls none withstand.
Some seek redemption, reasons why warm cold
returns as candle burns to t[r]ick wick'd fold.
Dream's houri land seems [h]our island, time's sand
tips scales no wails redeem nor understand.
Alike for sage, saint, sot, faint-hearted, scold,
for true want, truant wanting more than mould,
life's cycle turns, returning not, hope banned.
Speed shadow shapes we hither, thither, cast
reflections that, scarce heeded, never last.
Author notes
Words in brackets convey two or more meanings
Hour island: [h]our our or hour or our hour is eye I land
t[r]ick wick'd: tick or trick wick, tricky wicket, wicked etc.
for previous version entitled In Hour I land see written 4 December 2007 see below
In Hour I land
Ambitions, true perspective found, are canned.
Drum rol, role dumb, with no red carpet rolled.
Story - youth to hoary - soon is told,
bold, brash, old, rash, breath Death can't out of hand,
just blow away. Just blow falls none withstand.
Some seek redemption, reasons why warm cold
returns as candle burns to t[r]ick wick fold.
in houri land, in hour I land, drip sand
tips scales no wails redeem nor understand.
Alike for sage, and saint, faint-hearted, scold,
for true want, truant wanting more than mould,
the cycle turns, returning not, hope fanned.
As shadow shapes we hither, thither, cast
reflections that, unheeded, never last.
written 4 December 2007 see below
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Failure
THE BOY went out from the ranges grim,
And the breath of the mountains went with him;
With a song in his heart and a smile on his face,
And a light in his eyes for a foremost place:
And the good green earth, and the salt sea spray,
And the soft blue skies, they were his that day;
And, like Eden, ringed with a golden fire—
Afar rose the Land of His Heart’s Desire.
The boy went down to the city’s strife,
And his face was lost in the surge of life;
But a Power that he did not understand
Had nerved his brain and his fighting hand.
And he strove and failed, and he rose and won—
And he failed again ere the fight was done;
But he battled on when the days were dire
To win to the Land of His Heart’s Desire.
And there, in the heart of the stress and din,
’Mid want and labour and wealth and sin,
The strong man struggled with shining eyes,
And forced a passage, and grasped the prize.
And he cried to the Power who had lent the fire:
“Lo! Fame is the Land of My Heart’s Desire!
Give the cup to me with a beaded brim.”
And the Power that he knew not gave it him.
But the air is keen on the Cliffs of Fame,
And the shafts that fly have a deadly aim!
With a foothold scarce, and a sleepless dread
For the gulfs below and the heights o’erhead,
He cried to the Power who had steeled his hand:
“I am outcast yet from my Fairyland!
For Fame is a land where no strength may tire,
But Love is the Land of My Heart’s Desire!”
Then there came to the man all his dream of Love,
With the brow of snow and the eyes of a dove,
With the glint of the sun on her wavy hair,
And her soul as pure as her face was fair.
Like a living lily to him she came,
Till his eyes were wet and his soul was flame,
And she called to him, with an outstretched hand,
And they entered into the Promised Land.
But there came a day when he asked his soul,
“Is this the land, and is this the goal?”
In his heart there lay what his lips denied—
The pang of a hunger unsatisfied.
“For Fame,” he said, “and for Love I wrought;
They are not the things that I should have sought:
’Tis to boundless power that my dreams aspire—
And Wealth is the Land of My Heart’s Desire!”
Then the Power that he did not understand
Gave him ships and houses and gold and land,
And the man’s power grew with each passing year;
But his thoughts were vexed with a sleepless fear,
And his hair grew gray with the iron strain
Of the dread of loss and the lust of gain,
And he bowed his head on his hands and said.
“All things are mine, but my heart is dead!”
And he thought of the boy from the ranges grim
With the breath of the mountains over him,
With a song in his heart and a smile on his face,
And a light in his eyes for a foremost place,
And the good green earth and the salt sea spray,
And the soft blue skies that were his that day,
When, like Eden, ringed with a golden fire,
Afar rose the Land of His Heart’s Desire.
Then clear on his startled ear there fell
A voice like the sound of a silver bell:
“To each is the work that he best can do,
But you turned from the work when it called to you.
And you sought instead for the vulgar praise,
For the lips of love, and for prosperous days.
And with all that the world can give you here,
You have lost the thing that you hold most dear.
For who hears the word that the Gods inspire—
In his work finds the Land of His Heart’s Desire.”
poem by George Essex Evans
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Land Of The Living
I know of a land
Where hair does not grey, and where time’s rule is banned,
Where sun does not burn, and where wave does not ring,
Where autumn embraces the blossoming spring,
Where morning and evening unceasingly dance
In noon’s brightest glance.
Oh, wonderful land,
Where glass does not run full of tear-drops as sand,
Where nothing is wanting that’s worth holding dear,
Where that does not lack which so pained us back here!
With breast filled with longing we seek ever more
Your sweet-smiling shore.
Oh, long-promised land!
We greet you in morning hour’s mirror-clear strand,
When perfect your shadow the child may espy
And dreams that in green woods is where you must lie,
Where too it can share with the rushes and flowers
Its smile and its hours.
Oh, transient dream
Of island eternal in time’s rushing stream!
Of joy’s sacred temple in life’s vale of tears,
Of life half-divine in this hall’s mortal years!
The land of the living with you melts away
From those made of clay.
Oh, hope-dashing dream!
You glittering bubble on time’s rushing stream!
In vain would the poet, with voice and with pen,
From bright-gleaming shadows create you again;
Where shadow comes closest, the small will all weep
Who on it gaze deep.
Oh, spell-binding dream
Of pearl that’s eternal in time’s rushing stream!
You fool those poor persons who all seek in vain
In image and art what the heart would retain,
And make them call lasting what just disappears
Like days, months and years.
Oh, spirit of love!
Your hand let me kiss, reaching down from above
From heaven’s fair skies to this earth’s murky hold
And touching our eyes with its fingers of gold,
So blue-tinged there climbs behind surf-roaring strand
The wonderful land!
Oh, heavenly name,
Whose sacred embrace does our nature inflame,
So spirit can mingle with dust without grief
And bring back to life every dead withered leaf!
Oh, deep in my clay let me fall on my knee
So God may see me!
Oh, faith beyond bliss,
Whose high-vaulted bridge spans the gaping abyss
When drifting ice threatens in surf-roaring strand
From poor mortal dwelling to far promised land!
Come farther down to me, you high-honoured guest!
That pleases you best.
Oh, hope fleet of wing!
Oh, brother reborn through divine christening!
For all journeys made to the land o’er the sea,
Good tidings and comfort you’ve lavished on me,
May I ever thank you, so joy is in store
When hope is no more!
Oh, love perfect love!
Quiet source of fierce torrents that mightily move!
He calls you his father who ransoms our plight
Your spirit all soul’s vital force does ignite;
Your kingdom is there where man death does defy;
May us it be nigh!
Our father sublime!
You willingly reign in earth’s temple of grime,
Who builds up the spirit in Jesu’s sweet name,
In human embrace with an altar aflame,
With heaven-bright dwelling of faith dearly won,
For you and your son.
Oh, Christian faith sweet!
You grant every heart what the world cannot greet;
What barely we glimpse while our eye is still blue,
Is living within us, we know this is true;
Both heaven and earth are my land, life confides
Where love e’er resides.
poem by Nicolaj Frederik Severin Grundtvig
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dreamcatcher
There are no dreams that go astray,
there is no duty one must pay,
sleep taps spontaneous recall
unwraps capped limits one and all,
discarding strictures though men say
obey.
Fey mind behind blind mask may rise
to challenge stereotypes, surprise.
Imagination's magnet makes
light of past downcast, fast mistakes,
inner orbits [b]ring twinned sway
night, day.
One hand may weave a web as fine
as silken spider's, line by line,
mind mesmerized, net-knit, winged, may
hoodwink [l]one hand when interplay
is woken by unspoken sign
today.
As Milky Way's spun stars combine
in silver necklace, gems divine,
truth's words through time may overlay
poetic inspiration's play
to lay foundations, redesign
the Way.
Soul peeps dream satchel deep, supplies,
stimulation to catalyze
synchronicity shared around,
with naught held back, naught to impound
as ransom - superficial sighs
that weigh.
Thus thoughts may roam, float far from home
from land to land, from foam to foam,
as spirit insight unlocks keep -
restraining order - thence to leap
converting into polychrome
joy's day.
Dreams hyphonate what could be/come
with what stays still, forever dumb,
retain the reins of destiny
so reign's refrain's sustained, stays free.
There is no hardfast rule of thumb
in play.
Some inspirations answer prayer,
some aspirations bubble air,
most memories dissolve at dawn
though some persist, won't be foresworn.
If 'Anything' is 'Everywhere'
one may
convert mysterious phantom mime
into enlightenment to climb
towards tomorrow and expect
rewards not sorrow some project
or interject as paradigm
passé.
Pale horse as Pegasus is seen
to set scene for door unforseen -
adventures which advance to chance
no sharp indentures - circumstance
highlights freewill, none pastures green
gainsay.
Thus dreams bring close what far away
appeared beforehand, interplay
between right brain and left can link
cause and effect beyond the brink
of s[cr]een horizon's [s]way with fey
display.
(8 June 2012)
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Zero Hour
A lost age of forgotten dreams
Reflections in a broken mirror
Hiding the images of hway might have been
Time stands still as the glass water shatters
Beneath the strain of humanity's dying voice
No hope, no fear, no choice
Lost hope, one fear, last chance
Welcome to zero hour
The gods look on, desperate to comprehend
The moment it all failed
Their tears fall to the earth
Polluted with humanity's sins
And they close their eyes
Their children have lost their way.
No hope, no fear, no choice
Lost hope, one fear, last chance
Welcome to zero hour
Time begins anew, the gods awaken
>From their sleep
And with it a new dream
Like the Phoenix we are reborn from the
Ashes of the past
The choice is ours, a new dawn, a new hope,
A new age
As we begin at zero hour.
song performed by by Quo Vadis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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